


Neither Baked, Mashed, nor Fried

by gwyllion



Category: Brokeback Mountain (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-05
Updated: 2009-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:46:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyllion/pseuds/gwyllion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written for the Blowjob Friday Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neither Baked, Mashed, nor Fried

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Andy for helping me make something that sounded kinda screwy into a finished piece that I really like.

Ennis jabbed the dull point of his jackknife into the dirty brown potato skin. He drew the knife away to examine the incision, rubbing his thumb over the transparent seeping juice. A droplet fell to his jeans and was absorbed by the cotton instantly as he sat cross-legged in the tent that smelled like cat piss or worse. Worse, Ennis decided. Worse than ever because the rain that had begun to fall when he returned to the sheep after supper made the dank tent walls sweat the acrid odor, impregnating the air, the bedroll, Ennis’s clothes.

Again, he poked the point into the slit and pushed his thumb forcefully against the knife spine, cutting through the potato skin, elongating his initial notch down the full length of the oversized oblong spud. What else _could_ he do? Living in the isolated wilderness gave him strange thoughts indeed. All day, he could feel a storm developing, from the way his neck hair stood on end, the salty smell of the ocean in the whirling wind. In some ways, he was happy to see the dark clouds form while they hurriedly ate their beans and fried potatoes. The impending storm would give him a chance to think. Since he had spent the previous night in the tender’s camp, neglecting the sheep tonight did not seem an honorable option. Jack agreed and cooked their supper earlier than usual, giving Ennis plenty of time to race the storm back to the ridge. Ennis’s thoughts turned to Jack. He sliced the skin off the stolen spud leaving the surface a muddied white and his hands coated in sticky starch. 

Ennis had been willing to let that first time slide. Drunk off their asses, they both could have forgotten that it happened, chalked it up to a weird intoxicated whiskey dream. But, no. He just had to say something, bring it up, call it a one shot thing, when he didn’t have to call it anything at all. Could have claimed amnesia, pretended his memory failed him. Why did he pick this time to open his mouth that otherwise remained so firmly shut? Thunder rumbled overhead, the wind picked up and flattened the wheatgrass outside the pup tent. Should have just kept quiet.

Little did Ennis realize the next night, when he approached the tent with the intention of telling Jack that he was heading up to babysit the sheep, his definition of a one shot thing was very different than Jack’s. Ennis sliced through the potato flesh, roughly shaping as he went along, stopping to examine the innocent vegetable on which he set his high expectations. The next thing he knew, a couple reassuring whispers of “S’alright, s’alright,” was all it took to find himself cradled in his shepherding partner’s embrace, eyes closed, but hands groping for a fulfillment he didn’t know he was missing, until then. He juggled the potato in one hand, feeling its substantial weight. The blue heeler pricked up his ears when the storm intensified, raindrops bouncing off the ground and jumping over the threshold of the tent door.

Earlier this afternoon, he had tangled with an amorous Jack again, this time down by the water’s edge. Naked in the sun, Ennis face up, Jack face down, warming their bodies after a swim, Jack’s arm flopped carelessly around his waist. Ennis shyly started it. He slid a little closer, nuzzling his mouth and nose into Jack’s neck, making it look like an accident, breathing him in, before kissing him, still a little unsure, wrapping an arm around him before awkwardly wrenching him onto his side, touching his chest, letting his fingertips tickle the swirling dark hair there, brushing against his nipples. Jack launched onto him. His sweet tongue licking his lips, pleading for them to open, plunging into Ennis’s mouth, every inch of his exposed skin touching Jack, pitched tight against him, their hardness rubbing together. Ennis running his hands down Jack’s back, squeezing his hips, his ass, his thighs, grinding against him, leaving fingerprint bruises. Jack’s hands stroking Ennis’s face, fingers caressing his earlobes, and catching in his hair, Jack owning him, possessing him, filling his every pore to overflowing with that for which Ennis had no word. And then, there was that other thing he did.

“Gonna try somethin’ bud,” Jack murmured, his tongue dragging a trail of saliva through Ennis’s light fuzzy chest hair, down his freckled belly, head disappearing almost out of sight. Ennis craned his neck to look. Jack’s eyes opened, his gaze meeting Ennis’s, silently asking permission before biting his bottom lip and touching his curved palm to Ennis’s cock, holding it momentarily, observing their differences. Jack’s tongue went to work. A few tentative licks of the escaping liquid pearls, a long wet lick from base to tip, and then Ennis breathlessly watched as his cock disappeared into Jack’s exquisite warm mouth, Jack’s nose burrowing into Ennis’s wiry hair, piercing blue eyes looking up at him through dark fluttering lashes. Ennis grasped aimlessly for anything within his reach that would prevent him from wildly grabbing Jack’s head and thrusting his hips upward so hard that he might buck him off, coming up with only some pine needles and rich black soil wedged under his clawing fingernails while thunder rumbled from far beyond the next ridge.

“Holy shit!” yelled Ennis.

_Settle down, I’m new to all a this too._

“Oh my God!”

_D’ya want me a stop?_

“No!”

And, then it was over. 

Ennis blushed. He silently wondered if Jack was so new to it after all. He certainly showed no hesitation, no panic, none of the fear that Ennis would have exhibited if their roles were reversed, knowing a mouthful of spunk might be coming his way. A flash of lightning illuminated the windswept grazing grounds, casting the potato’s shadow on the tent wall as it was held high for Ennis’s inspection. He would show him. He needed to decide what to do next, but with no appropriate model available for his sculpture, he had to rely on memory. His memory did not fail him. In the brief moments of lightning, he carved away bit by bit, tiny potato shavings falling to the cat piss floor, then smoothed the ridges left by the flat knife cuts using his shriveling waterlogged fingers that remembered what Jack had felt like in his hand when he held the real thing like he did just after it was over.

Jack cleaned Ennis off with one sweep of his soft lips and swallowed a final time, clearing as much of Ennis’s essence as possible out of his immediate mouth, before kissing his way back in line with the rest of Ennis’s shuddering body. “That nice, Cowboy?” he whispered, nudging his nose behind Ennis’s ear, gripping him tightly, not to stop his easing vibrations, but to absorb them and relish them, his own blatant urgency poking into and gliding along Ennis’s hip. Glassy eyed, Ennis reached his right hand over, and almost confidently took Jack’s cock between his thumb and forefinger, dipping his thumbnail into the slit and rubbing Jack’s anticipatory slick over the tip. Jack found Ennis’s mouth and moaned into it, no real words coming from him now, only little sounds. Ennis didn’t taste himself much. A few strokes of Ennis’s hand with his finger and thumb rubbing hard across Jack’s crowning ridge, their mouths still together, and it was over for Jack too. Next time, Ennis thought, next time.

Ennis nodded his head, admiring his handiwork one last time with his eyes before darkness crept into the pup tent, obliterating any hope of seeing accurately until morning. He ran his fingers up and down the straight lines of the shaft and the elegant symmetrical curves near the tip. _Yes, Jack felt like that, hard, but flexible, smooth and alive with moisture_. As for what happened earlier, Jack may never ask Ennis to reciprocate, probably thinking the terror of him suggesting such an act would send Ennis fleeing into silence or worse, but Ennis secretly hoped that he could make Jack feel the way he made Ennis feel today. Next time, Ennis would be prepared. Maybe tomorrow, when they met again, Ennis would be one step closer to knowing what it would feel like to have Jack in his mouth.

Ennis woke before dawn, the wind blowing through the pup tent, dissipating the smell of cat piss. He stepped out under a cold cloudless starlit sky, the lights of the town visible on the distant horizon, the storm over and the new day promising to be clear and bright. Pulling himself out, he took a satisfying leak on the spruce behind his camp. The cool night air sent a chill over his exposed skin. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he felt around for his carving. He held it in his hand one last time before winding up and letting it fly. Living in the isolated wilderness gave him strange thoughts indeed.


End file.
